


I Said I'm Taking You Home

by ceilingpool



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse of italics, Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Dance Grad Student Lance, Dance Undergrad Keith, Facials, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hair-pulling, Inappropriate application of classical ballet training, M/M, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Underage Drinking, stay tuned for more shameless smut, tags will update with next chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceilingpool/pseuds/ceilingpool
Summary: Pidge follows his gaze. “What? Who is… oh. Oh my god! Oh my god is that…?” Her voice becomes gleeful, then wicked, which is the exact incorrect reaction. “Holy shit, that’s Hot Ballet TA isn’t it?” Keith groans and scrubs a hand down his face, hoping the dim club lights mask the heat he feels rising in his cheeks.“It totally is!” Pidge crows. “Damn, heishot.”“I know!” Keith wails. “Pidge, we have togo.”





	I Said I'm Taking You Home

**Author's Note:**

> This fic DOES contain mild underage drinking (if you're in the US), but does NOT contain any sexual content with minors.
> 
> For reference, Keith is 20 and in his sophomore year, Pidge is 21 and in her junior year, and Lance is 24 and in his first year of grad school
> 
> Title and inspiration for this whole self-indulgent mess comes from the song Fresh by Artist vs. Poet. I would highly recommend listening to it as you read, as it has the same sort of slutty energy.

“Pidge. We have to go. We really, really have to go.” It’s almost a bummer; Keith’s having a good hair day, the mirror was kind to him, and he normally hates the sweaty press of strangers’ bodies but he can’t deny how the steady throb of too-much-bass reverberating in his chest makes him want to lose himself to it. It’s too bad they have to turn right back around before they’re-- before _he’s_ \-- seen.

“Keith, we _just_ got here. You’re not allowed to hate it yet. It’s your chance to get out there and dance!”

Pidge clearly does not understand the gravity of this situation.

“Well for one thing,” Keith half-shouts over the music, “I get plenty of chances to dance, seeing as that is my literal, actual major. And that’s not the problem.” He meaningfully cuts his eyes through the crowd to a lithe figure rolling his hips with some guy’s hands on his bare waist beneath his gauzy crop-top. “ _T_ _hat_ is the problem.”

Pidge follows his gaze. “What? Who is… _oh._ Oh my god! Oh my god is that…?” Her voice becomes gleeful, then wicked, which is the exact incorrect reaction. “Holy shit, that’s Hot Ballet TA isn’t it?” Keith groans and scrubs a hand down his face, hoping the dim club lights mask the heat he feels rising in his cheeks.

“It totally is!” Pidge crows. “Damn, he _is_ hot.”

“I know!” Keith wails. “Pidge, we have to _go._ ”

He tugs on her arm but his eyes are riveted as the man’s hips rock to beat before he twirls away with one last full contact body roll, easily allowing himself to be snagged and sandwiched between two giggly-drunk girls. The guy he’s left behind looks dazed and like he might have a slight problem to deal with. Keith feels a momentary kinship with him.

“Ok, there is no way that guy only does ballet, right? No one who just does ballet moves like that.” She stays belligerently rooted in place with a grin as Keith groans and tugs harder.

“He teaches hip-hop and Latin classes at the Student Center,” he says impatiently. “ _Please_ can we go now?”

One of the girls stumbles in her heels, and Hot Ballet TA easily catches her around the waist. He leans over to say something in her friend’s ear, who giggles and nods, using his shoulder to balance herself as the girl in his arms sags into him. With a grin and a whoop, he scoops her up and carries her off the dancefloor, friend in tow, scanning the perimeter for an unoccupied table.

And because Keith is staring, he sees the exact moment those eyes pass over him and then flick back, widening in recognition. The quick up-down of his eyes on Keith’s outfit happens so quickly he might have imagined it, but it doesn’t matter because Keith is giving him a sharp nod to be polite in the loosest sense of the term, then spinning on his heel and dragging Pidge around the corner to the bar where she is more than happy to be led, the traitor.

“You owe me a drink,” Keith grumbles as they both half-sit on the only open stool at the crowded bartop. “At least two, possibly five.”

Pidge flags the bartender over, luring them with cash already in hand, while Keith casually keeps his X-marked hand out of sight. “Aww, I thought you wanted to leave,” Pidge says, smile sweet like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Keith hisses, “We can’t leave now that he’s _seen--”_

“Two well drinks, please,” Pidge cuts over him. “One screwdriver and one bourbon and Coke.”

The bartender nods and takes Pidge’s money, not even sparing a glance at Keith as she slides two plastic cups in front of Pidge seconds later.

They manage to find a small corner booth with sticky seats and a stickier surface. Keith grimaces as his bare thighs touch the wood and he sits forward to keep his skin out of contact with it.

“You should ask him to dance,” Pidge says around her straw, and kicks his ankles under the table.

“This isn’t middle school, you don’t just _ask_ people to dance. Besides, he looked a little occupied. I guarantee those girls would let him take them both home tonight.”

Pidge shrugs, conceding. “Probably. He was totally checking you out though.”

Keith kicks her back. “He was _not._ He saw me. Seeing someone is not the same as checking them out.” The ice clicks in his cup as he stirs it around and takes a too-large sip. “Maybe he actually will go home with them and I can go dance in peace.”

Pidge’s eyes widen behind her glasses as she spots something behind him, and quickly stands. “Or maybe he won’t. Who knows, not me. I have to pee really bad, right now, bye!” She’s gone before he can even turn, and in moments there’s a sharp hip cocked against his table. The body the hip belongs to is tanned and lean with muscle and Keith’s eyes are drawn helplessly up, up, against all sense of self-preservation, to take in a familiar face too handsome for its own good sporting a roguish smile and dancing ice-blue eyes.

He is going to _kill_ Pidge. He mentally ups the drinks she owes him to a hundred. A thousand.

“Hey there hot stuff, come here often?” The voice is smooth and rich, like far better bourbon than what’s currently in Keith’s cup.

Keith scowls up at the cocksure grin that says he _knows_ it’s a bad line and is using it anyway.

“I know you know my name, Lance. And I don’t come here often, because if I knew _you_ came here I wouldn’t come at all.” He says it before he thinks, and it comes out mean, waspish. It does have the virtue of being technically true, though-- the less time he spends around the guy the less he has to wrestle with how being around him makes him feel.

He feels like a little kid throwing pine cones.

“Keith, you wound me,” Lance says, clutching his heart and dragging the scant fabric of his shirt even higher, while not sounding wounded in the slightest. His eyes slide exaggeratedly down Keith’s front, and over where he’s arched slightly to keep his skin off the seat. “Good look you got going on. Subtle.”

Keith glances down at his all-black ensemble and has to snort. A choker clings around his throat and his tee-shirt is cut to expose all the way up to his ribs on one side and says _BOYS._ in white block letters. His shorts are… short.

He meets Lance eyes and holds them, shrugs. “I know what I like.”

It’s bold, far bolder than he feels, and he breaks the eye contact to go for his cup to mask how his cheeks burn, the last few sips slurping loudly as his cup empties.

Lance mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “I’ll bet you do,” before clearing his throat and saying louder, “Alright Mr. Knows-what-he-likes. Can I buy you a drink?”

Keith has no idea what Lance is playing at, and flashes him the X on the back of his hand. “Too young to drink.”

Lance just smirks, and it’s insufferably attractive. “Uh-huh. And what’s in that cup?”

“Coke.”

Lance’s eyebrows raise, waiting, like he _knows_ Keith or something. It rankles that he’s right.

“And bourbon.”

“That’s what I thought. Wait here.” He says it like this wasn’t the table Keith was already sitting at when he invaded his space. Keith’s hands are sweating. This is the exact situation he wanted to avoid. In fact, _any_ situation with Lance is one he wants to avoid, because he already has to see him every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 2-4 pm for the Classical Ballet III class that Lance assists with for his grad program. And he’s so fucking talented, and charismatic, and _flexible_ that Keith doesn’t know if he wants to be him or be _in_ him.

He does know.

And it’s hard enough to tamp it all down when Lance’s attention is split between fifteen other people. Having all of his undivided attention, even for the short amount of time he’s had it, is dizzying.

He’s startled from his thoughts by another cup being placed in front of him and Lance dropping into the seat opposite with his own.

“If you wanted to get laid, you could’ve saved yourself the money and taken those girls home,” Keith says. Y’know, instead of _thank you_ like a fucking _normal person._

Lance’s eyes narrow and his easy smile drops.

God, what is _wrong_ with him?

“Believe it or not, Keith,” and fuck, Keith _never_ wants to hear his name in that tone of voice ever again, “I don’t actually find the thought of going to bed with people who are nearly too drunk to walk appealing. Sorry for bothering you. You can let your friend know she can come back.”

He goes to stand and Keith’s brain screams at him to do _something_ so he snatches Lance’s wrist before he can move. “Wait. Please. I- I’m sorry. That was a really shitty thing to say, and I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t- I don’t think you would. Do that.”

Really, really smooth.

Lance shakes his head, but, miracle of miracles, he’s sitting back down.

“You sure know how to strike a nerve, I’ll give you that.” he chuckles. “I called them an Uber to take them home.” He still sounds a little defensive.

“I’m sorry,” Keith says again. He doesn’t know what else to say now that he’s royally fucked this up. Is it too late to thank him for the drink? “What I meant to say was, ‘thank you for the drink, Lance.’”

The rigid set of Lance’s shoulders relaxes again, and he doesn’t pull away from where Keith still has him by the wrist. Keith drops it anyway and picks up his cup with both hands.

“You’re welcome.” His smile is soft and warm, and Keith doesn’t deserve such easy forgiveness. “You’re very intimidating to talk to, you know that?”

Wait, _Keith_ is?

“Me?”

Lance sips his drink and almost sounds _shy,_ which is not a word Keith would have ever associated with him.

“Mhm. You’re always so serious. It’s cool to see you out being a human, I kind of thought you just lived in the studio and powered down after classes.”

It’s Keith’s turn to chuckle. “You’re honestly not too far off the mark there.”

“I’ve never seen you with your hair down before. It’s longer than I thought it would be. I like it.” Does… does that mean Lance has _thought_ about his hair? And is Lance _blushing?_ Keith watched him grind his ass all up on some guy no problem, but complimenting Keith’s hair has his cheeks flushing? Add _adorable_ to the Lance-related word bank in Keith’s mind. “I like your--” Lance reaches out like he’s going to touch, but drops his hand to play with his straw instead. “Your braid. It’s cute.” Definitely blushing.

Keith blushes too. He’d forgotten he let Pidge braid up his bangs and clip them back to keep them out of his face. “Thanks. I like your, um.” Body? Face? Lips? Ass? “You look good.”

And _god,_ does he. Mile-long legs poured into jeans riding so low it should be illegal, and loose pink crop top that showcases his lean torso, with a sleeve that keeps dropping off his shoulder in a way that Keith isn’t certain isn’t deliberate. Keith is just about positive he saw that exact garment in their local dance supply store, meant to be a leotard cover-up rather than a shirt all on its own. Keith knows because he got his stretchy, clinging shorts at the exact same place.

Lance is making it work though. Like _really_ making it work.

Despite his own pink cheeks, Lance smirks at Keith like he has a pretty good idea of what he’s thinking. “Thanks. I try.”

They lapse into silence for a minute, listening to the club remix of a song that Keith kind of knows. He’s a drink and a half in now, and he really wants to get on the dancefloor.

“Listen, I-”

“Do you-”

“Oh, go ahead-”

“No you go first.”

Lance laughs nervously and slides a hand through his hair. It’s sexy, and makes Keith want to slide his own hands into it and mess it up more. “Ok, ok.” Lance takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself. “So first off, I’m not a lightweight but I am about four drinks in and that’s for sure the only reason I can say this to you, but. I’ve had a crush on you since last year when we had College Algebra together. You had the whole stoic bad-boy thing going on and I was so into it. And then I graduated and I figured I’d never see you again, but then it turned out you were a dance major and you were in my _class,_ and I was so fucking thrilled and then proceeded to never get the guts to ask you out.”

Are you fucking _serious?_

“I didn’t even know you’d noticed me!” He was just a dumb freshman dozing through a core class like everyone else.

“Dude, I asked you about homework questions like three times!”

“Yeah, you were a senior in a core class, asking a freshman for math help! I just thought you were kinda dumb!” Jesus Christ, if Keith could stop putting his foot in his mouth sometime this millennia that would be _great._

Lance just barks out a laugh. “Touche, touche. But what I was trying to say, and please forgive me if this is too forward, but I just didn’t want you to think this was coming out of left field or only because you look just. _So_ hot tonight.”

Lance clears his throat, and Keith buries his face in his hands.

“No, you do, stop it!” He playfully bats Keith’s hands away, and Keith knows his face matches Lance’s for redness. “I just, and once again please forgive me, but if you think there is even the slightest chance that you might come home with me tonight then this will be my last drink. And if I’m totally off base with this, then I’ll ask you to kindly look away as the floor swallows me whole.”

Will he look too easy if he drags Lance out of this place right the fuck now?

“You’re not. Um. Off base.” The liquor is starting to hit his system now, and it helps to loosen his tongue. He feels his face pull into a smirk that’s far steadier than he feels. “But I came here to dance, and I haven’t gotten to do that yet. So why don’t you be a gentleman, and take me out there and show me a good time? And then we’ll see how I feel.” He feels a little stupid for the way he bites his lower lip and blinks up at Lance through his lashes, but Lance’s eyes darken and he licks his lips before draining his cup in one last pull, as Keith does the same.

Lance’s eyes sparkle as he stands, then bows low, hand extended to Keith. “May I have this dance?”

Keith laughs and takes the offered hand, and allows himself to be led onto to floor.

***

Lance’s hand is hot and heavy on his one bare hip, his body a sturdy line of heat pressed tight to Keith’s back as their heartbeats pound in time to the throbbing bass. His other hand curls around the back of Keith’s where it’s raised in the air, long dexterous fingers sliding between Keith’s own. He drags their twined hands down the center of Keith’s chest and lower, veering off course at the last second. It’s Keith’s own palm touching himself, but his own touch has never sent sparks flying up his spine like this. He lets his head fall back to Lance’s shoulder, exposing the long column of his throat, and he grins when Lance swears under his breath.

They rock easily to the beat, Keith letting Lance guide his hips. “You have no idea how good it feels to dance with someone who actually knows how to move.” Lance’s breath on Keith’s ear makes him shiver, and Lance must feel it because his breath turns into teeth tugging on his ear lobe. “You like that?”

All Keith can manage is an emphatic nod and cut-off groan. This boy is going to kill him.

He turns in Lance arms, needing to feel his bare skin under his palms. He’s so _soft_ , and Keith can’t get enough as they slide up Lance’s back, beneath his flimsy shirt. Lance ducks forward and drags the tip of his tongue across the shell of his ear, and Keith’s hands turn to fingernails against his back. They trade heavy breaths in the space between them as their hips rock more insistently. Keith wraps a leg over Lance’s hip, a hand immediately falling to his bare thigh to keep it in place. Lance’s warm palm travels from his knee to just short of the line of his shorts, and back.

Keith wants those hands _everywhere._

“You gonna grab my ass or what?” Keith nips Lance’s jaw and feels gratified when his hands tighten on him.

“You told me I had to be a gentleman.”

“Mm, think I changed my mind.”

The air between them is heavy with intention, has Keith’s heartbeat tripping up. Has Keith moving before the bad, bad idea that occurs to him has even finished forming. It’ll be just about the sluttiest thing he’s ever done, and if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll (rightfully) think better of it. He slots his back to Lance front again, and grips his arm firmly. “Hold that there.”

Using Lance for support, Keith bends until his face is in his knees, extends one leg straight in the air until his shin rests on Lance’s shoulder behind him, toes pointing hard in his combat boots, his legs one long, perfect line against Lance’s body.

“Keith, _fuck.”_ Lance sounds shocked and breathless even over the music and it sends a thrill through him. Lance steadies Keith’s ankle with one hand, and trails the other down the inside of his leg before grabbing a tight handful of his ass. His hand trails under Keith’s shirt, tracing the sharp arch of his back as Keith pulls his spine parallel to the floor. Lance grips the hip of the leg Keith is standing on and pulls him in tighter, at the same time pushing gently on Keith’s ankle to deepen his split. Keith takes it easily and they both hiss as the thick line of Lance’s cock rides against his thigh.

Keith doesn’t even think, just reaches back and slides a thumb under his waistband, hooking it around the strap of a red lace thong and tugging it up to rest in a delicate, visible curve over his hip. Lance swears loudly, both hands dropping heavily to his waist to pull Keith roughly against his grinding hips.

Keith lowers his leg carefully as not to kick any of the other club-goers in the face, and grins darkly at the expression on Lance’s face as he turns to face him. Lance hands dig hard into his hips, effortlessly keeping the rhythm and drawing him in tight.

“Fucking shameless,” Lance growls into his ear. “People are staring.”

It’s true. There are a number of eyes on them, nearly all of them openly appreciative. Keith can imagine the picture they make, both with lean dancer’s bodies and cumulatively showing a lot of skin.

Lance’s voice is deep and dangerous. “Everyone wants to be standing where I am after that little display. You’re so goddamn sexy, you know that? Everyone with eyes is jealous that you’re going home with me tonight.”

Lance’s hands are possessive on his ass, a thigh between his legs; Keith doesn’t have the self-control not to rock down onto it. He wants to jibe back, say something clever about still waiting on Lance to show him a good time, but he’s dizzy with arousal and proximity and _Lance_ , and it’s all he can do to gasp _kiss me_ and Lance’s lips are on his with a grateful moan.

Their hips are still rocking to the beat, but it’s less dancing than it is borderline pornographic.

Lance’s hands guide his hips in tight little circles and his cock throbs, precome pulsing into the delicate lace. They’ll need a thorough wash as it is, but if Lance keeps at him like this, lips and teeth and tongue ravishing his mouth and constant rolling friction of his hips, they’re going to be completely ruined.

He gets his hands in Lance’s hair just like he’d imagined, and it’s just as silky soft between his fingers as it looks. Lance hums into his mouth and gets his own hand into the longer hair at the back of Keith’s head. Before Keith can warn him, he’s curling his hand into a tight fist at the base of Keith’s skull. The steady boil of desire in his gut combusts in an instant, rocketing him up to the edge with violent intensity. Keith breaks the kiss, can’t breathe, can only offer a broken, gasping cry, hoping the wildness of his eyes conveys what he needs it to.

Lance’s expression as he realizes fans the flame hotter, his eyes wide and amazed, plush bitten lips falling open. “Oh fuck, Keith, are you… god yeah, that’s it baby, let me see, let me see you lose it.”

Keith is electric with it, hips rolling hard and tight, the precipice crumbling beneath him. “Fuck fuck, pull my hair, harder Lance, _please_ , oh _shit!”_

The fist in his hair tightens _hard_ , enough to wrench his head back and Keith comes on a sob, fingernails digging into Lance’s skin, keeping him close as Keith chases his pleasure, cock pulsing thick and hot as he loses himself to it.

Lance’s awed voice murmurs in his ear as Keith slumps against him, chest heaving. “That was so fucking hot, Keith, holy shit, never thought-- oof!” Keith’s hand is tight around his wrist for the second time that night, this time pulling him behind with single-minded purpose.

Keith all but shoves him into a bathroom stall, sinking to his knees, hands pausing over Lance’s thighs just long enough to take the skin over Lance’s hip between his teeth and suck a deep purple mark into it.

“If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” Keith gasps into his skin, fingers working open Lance’s fly and tugging down his jeans and boxer-briefs, pausing just long enough for Lance to card his fingers through Keith’s hair and whimper _please don’t stop._

It’s too soon to get hard again, but Keith’s dick twitches valiantly at the sight of Lance’s: thick and hard, straining up toward his flat belly. Keith drags his nails through the neatly manicured trail of hair leading down, earning him a hot little gasp, before he licks a sloppy stripe up the underside and closes his lips around the head.

In the relative quiet of the bathroom, Lance breathing echoes, his choked off moan as Keith slides down until his cock is brushing the back of his throat sounding magnified. It’s a miracle they’re alone in here, but Keith wouldn’t stop even if someone walked in and he doesn’t know if Lance would even notice.

Even so, he doesn’t want to draw this out. They’ll have time for that later.

It’s inelegant and a little messy, but Lance is already so worked up it hardly matters. Keith curls his hand over the spit-slick head and twists his wrist on the downstroke, fitting his lips back over it and sinking down. There’s a thunk as Lance’s head falls back to the wall he’s leaning his weight on. A few more strokes like that and Lance’s thighs are trembling, hand clenching in Keith’s hair and Keith is _so_ here for this.

He moans around the thick length and relishes in the twinge in his jaw. “This is going inside me before the night is over,” Keith says hoarsely, wrist flicking faster and tonguing over the leaking slit and taking as much as he can in one smooth motion, bobbing his head and keeping everything hot and slick.

“ _Hnng,_ anything you want baby, bet you’re so fucking tight, _oh,_ like that like that,” he scrabbles ineffectually at the wall, breaths coming fast and harsh. “Keith, baby please, please _ah!”_

Keith isn’t stopping or slowing, but Lance keeps up the pleading mantra of his name and Keith wants to tie him down and give him something to _really_ beg for.

Lance’s hand pets at Keith’s face, through his hair, around his lips where they’re stretched slick around the cock in his mouth. He pulls off with an obscene slurp, but keeps the motion of his hand quick and tight. “Look at you, begging so pretty for me.” Keith hardly recognizes his own voice, deep and rough and so self-assured, like he’s going to make damn sure he’s the best lay Lance has had in his life.

Lance shivers full-bodied at the praise, a whine issuing between his clenched teeth, and all right, Keith can definitely work with that. “You like when I tell you what a good boy you are? You wanna keep being good for me, gorgeous?”

Lance can barely string two coherent words together, but bless him, he tries. “Yes, Keith _oh fuck,_ please baby I wanna be good I wanna-- anything _please I’m so close--”_

“Why don’t you show me what a good boy you can be and come for me. On my face, just like this. Keep your eyes open, beautiful, want you to watch.”

Lance’s teeth clamp viciously onto his own knuckles, muffling the desperate whines Keith is dragging from him, but he’s still _loud,_ like he just can’t help it. Keith wants to find out what it’ll take to make him scream.

His eyebrows draw together and his long lashes flutter but stay open, his hips making these little abortive thrusts into Keith’s hand.

“Keith, _hnn,_ I’m- I’m gonna-- _ah,_ oh god, fuck fuck _fuck!”_

The tension snaps and Lance is painting Keith’s upturned face in thick white stripes, broken moans bouncing off the walls as his chest heaves.

Finally spent, Lance slackens against the wall on trembling legs. His eyes fall on Keith and he groans. Keith blinks up at him, lets him take in the picture he makes here on his knees on the bathroom floor, Lance’s cum dripping from his cheeks and lips and chin. He knows he looks completely debauched, and he _wants_ Lance to look, wants this moment to be indelibly etched into Lance’s mind. Whatever happens after tonight, he’ll at least have the satisfaction of knowing that Lance knows what Keith looks like covered in his cum.

He lets Lance stare for a moment longer before wiping himself off and flushing the evidence.

Keith’s knees protest as he gets to his feet, but he ignores them in favor of obeying the strange urge to pull Lance to his chest and run a soothing palm up and down his back. Keith has never felt the need to comfort someone after giving _them_ a blowjob, but Lance looks so flayed open that Keith just wants to hold him, so he does.

He’ll have plenty of time to overanalyze it later.

When Lance’s breathing has mostly steadied, he pulls back and giggles as he looks Keith over.

“What?”

“You missed a spot.” Lance swipes a thumb over Keith’s chin, gathering the come there and licking it off.

Keith groans and shakes his head. He needs a shower, round two, and a fresh pair of pants. In that order.

“How convenient, then,” Lance says when he tells him, “that all your wishes can be granted all in one place. Think I’ve convinced you to come home with me?”

Keith snorts and gently shoves his shoulder. “I guess you’ve pled your case well enough. Pull up your pants and let’s get out of here.”

***

Keith finds Pidge at the table she abandoned him at earlier, deep in a heated discussion about… something, with a group of grad students. One of them he recognizes as her brother, which means those are probably his friends and they’re all probably arguing about math science something something laws of physics et cetera. It also makes him slightly less nervous about the frankly alarming number of cups stacked next to her on the table.

“Keith! Buddy hey!” she chirps when she notices him.

“Hey there, traitor, how ya feeling?”

“‘M good!” Her face drops sadly. “Everyone around me’s wrong though. Everyone’s salways wrong.” Her wide-armed gesture is clearly meant for the guests at her table, but swings wide enough to encompass the entire room. Either way, she’s probably right. “Oh, oh! How did your talk with Tot TA Ballet, um. Hot. Ballet TA. Go.”

Keith cringes as a strong, tan arm slides its way around his waist and an overly delighted voice says into his ear, “Hot Ballet TA, hm? He sounds suave, I’d love to meet him.”

Pidge’s grin is devilish. “I see you two made--” Her muddled brain seems to think better of whatever she was going to say, to Keith’s overwhelming relief. “...friends. Ruined the braid I stainpakingly-- I stain-- shit, I worked really hard on. So you gonna intr’duce me to your new...friend?” She waggles her eyebrows and winks, subtle as drunken freight train.

Keith sighs. “Lance, this is my best friend, for some reason, Pidge. Pidge, Lance.”

Pidge holds out a hand, which would be normal, except she’s got it positioned like she clearly expects him to kiss it. “Lance, you don’t have to--”

But of course Lance lets go of him to sink into his second deep bow of the evening at this exact table, and takes her hand lightly in his, brushing his lips across the back of it. “A pleasure, Miss Pidge.”

Seriously, how come everyone Keith knows is so fucking _weird?_

“So hot!” Pidge whisper-shouts conspiratorially.

“And quite the gentleman it seems,” Keith says drily.

Lance glances back at him and smirks. “ _Ever_ the gentleman, in fact.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna be ok with her, Matt?”

Matt waves him off easily. “Yeah, yeah. Been babysitting her my whole life. I’ll take drunk over middle school-aged any day. You guys take off whenever.”

“Thanks, man. Bye Pidge, drink some water. Lance wants to show me how much of a gentleman he can be.”

Her nose wrinkles, whether from the suggestion of water or thinly veiled innuendo is unclear. “Gross. You crazy kids get outta here, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“We are going to do literally everything you wouldn’t do. We’ll snap you photo evidence don’t worry!”

At her horrified wail, he grins and slides his hand into Lance’s back pocket, ushering him into the night and a waiting Uber.

“So. Hot Ballet TA, huh?”

Keith buries his burning face in Lance’s shoulder. “Please don’t make this weird.”

“It’s not weird, don’t worry. I’m sure my friends will be thrilled at the chance to meet Cute-Ass Dance Bad Boy, formerly Cute-Ass Angry Math Bad Boy.”

“I refuse to believe that you didn’t make those up just now.”

Lance shrugs away the accusation with easy grace. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

The car is quiet for a few moments except for the easy-listening station the driver has playing on the radio.

“...so is cute-ass used as like a single adjective, or is it two separate words saying that my ass is cute?”

Lance laughs and drops a kiss on his forehead. “Either? Both? Take your pick, it’s true either way.” He wriggles his hand underneath Keith for a palmful of ass. “Though I’d be happy to gather more empirical evidence and give you an updated conclusion. Y’know, for science.”

“A gentleman _and_ a scientist. Pidge would be so proud.”

“Hell yeah, baby. Gonna take you home and show you my test tube--"

The easy-listening station suddenly becomes much easier to listen to as its volume pointedly increases.

When they arrive, Keith slides a few extra bills to their driver with an apologetic _he’s just like that,_ as Lance walks around to open his door with a dramatic flourish. “C’mon baby, we’ve got some chemicals to mix and I’ve got a hypothesis or two I’d like to test--”

The car peels away nearly before the door is shut.

Keith groans. “Remind me again why I like you?”

Lance pretends to think as he leads Keith up the walk to the front door. “Possibly for my devastatingly good looks and magnetic personality?” His lips brush Keith’s ear as he turns his key in the lock, “Or possibly, because I’m very, very flexible and may or may not have a gag reflex.”

Keith swears lowly and practically drags Lance over the threshold as soon as the door opens. “Looks like I’ve got a hypothesis or two of my own to test out.”

Lance’s smirk is devilish as he crowds Keith back against the closed door. He nips Keith’s lower lip and drags his tongue across it, grinning against his lips.

“I can’t wait.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a WHILE since I posted my first story here, and the huge outpouring of support from you guys has helped me keep the motivation to keep writing, so THANK YOU THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments and kudos on my last story. I've intended to post stuff much more regularly than I have, but between a full time job, planning a wedding, Overwatch events, and my student Microsoft Office subscription running out and locking me out of all my WIPs... the time I've been able to find to write has been a little scarce.
> 
> But I'm still working hard on the next installation of Feels Good, Tastes Good, and I also have a super self-indulgent Catboy! Lance fic in the works that literally no one asked for, and I can't wait to share it with you guys once it's complete. Chapter 2 of this fic will likely be coming up next though.
> 
> So thank you SO MUCH for reading, I hope you enjoyed. I love getting your feedback, and every comment and kudos means the world to me. Comments have the double advantage of helping me improve my writing as well as making me scream at my ceiling.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr!](https://ceiling-pool.tumblr.com/)


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